


reasons once among many

by wttlpwrites



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, Tony Stark Has A Heart, mentioned dubious consent, past dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wttlpwrites/pseuds/wttlpwrites
Summary: Steve deals with his and Tony's breakup, and learns some things about himself that maybe he knew all along.Bucky helps with the process.





	reasons once among many

**Author's Note:**

> hope that you enjoy this story. un-beta'd. tw for past dubious consent and internalized acephobia.

_ Dear Tony, _

 

_ None of them hold me under the water when I ask. Not like you used to, last summer at the pool. They look at me funny and ask me why I'd want to feel like drowning again. But it was never about that, I only ever wanted to hold my head under for a while. You used to help me do that. But sometimes, I guess, you did hold me too long. Even after I started splashing, you _

 

Steve crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash. Wouldn't have done anybody any good to send that. Nobody even sent letters anymore, but crumpling up a piece of paper was much more satisfying than deleting an unsent text message. Steve knew, because Steve’d had ample experience with both. It was easier, anyway, to delete and to crumple, because he’d been the one to end it. 

 

_ And that's not a bad thing _ , a little voice that sounded like Natasha whispered to him. 

 

_ You just couldn't do it anymore.  _

 

But whatever. Because even Natasha never agreed to hold his head under. 

 

\--

 

“You sure you're alright?” Bucky asked for probably the eight thousandth time. 

 

“Peachy,” Steve said, not at all quelling his friend’s worries. 

 

“There's nothing wrong with what you did, you know that, right?” 

 

“Bucky, I swear to god, if one more person tells me that breaking up with him was the right thing to do-”

 

“Doesn't matter if it was right or wrong. You needed to do it,” Bucky said. Steve’s throat caught and he could  _ feel  _ his jaw twitch. 

 

“Yeah. I did.” 

 

\--

 

See, the thing was, was that Steve still  _ missed  _ Tony. And he shouldn't, because he ended it, and Tony was doing okay all things considered, and Steve didn't have the goddamn  _ right _ . 

 

Because sometimes,  _ having _ to do something is not at all the same thing as  _ wanting  _ to do something. Steve hadn't wanted to do anything at all, he could've been perfectly happy just staying and pretending and knowing that he’d never be happy and knowing that, for some reason, the magic was gone. That he  _ wasn’t _ happy, and couldn't be. He just... couldn't be. 

 

It wasn't Tony’s fault. Not really. It was Steve who’d gotten all caught up in the first place, thinking he’d fallen. Thinking he knew what love was. 

 

Steve didn't know what love was, didn't know if he’d ever figure that one out. 

 

He knew he’d gotten pretty damn close. It just hadn't been with Tony. 

 

\--

 

Steve was laying in bed and thinking about how nothing mattered and he’d die alone when the lights flicked on. 

 

“Rogers, it's four in the afternoon. Get your ass up.”

Steve grunted noncommittally. 

 

“I swear to god you've got four seconds.”

 

Steve just rolled and flopped over so that he could see Bucky. “No.”

 

Bucky sighed, running a metal hand through his hair, which had grown out a bit. Steve kind of liked it longer, reaching his chin, instead of the choppy way it had looked after he’d first stumbled in after the D.C. disaster. Now, though, he’d been at the tower for months, and he was doing better. Everything was going better-- Bucky was in therapy and Sam was settling back into D.C. and Steve had come home to the tower after his own short stint in D.C. and had finally ended it with Tony. After the months of long distance, they’d only lasted a couple weeks with Steve back at the tower. 

 

Steve was better at long distance.

 

“I don't want to get up. I don't want to move,” Steve said. (Steve whined.)

 

Bucky sighed again and slowly came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “It's okay to feel that way. But you can't give in to it, bud. Not yet.” 

 

“Why not?”

 

“Well, you've got work to do,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. 

 

“There haven’t been any Avengers duties for days.” 

 

“You told me you were gonna finish that painting for Sam.” 

 

Steve could tell, now, that Bucky was just worried. Bucky hated Sam, or at least pretended to-- some sort of best friend territorial dispute. 

 

“I think I'm just going to take a nap,” Steve said. 

 

Bucky sighed again, for an impressive total of three whole sighs. “Listen, Steve.” He paused there, gathering his thoughts. “I know that it's shit right now. I know that everything sucks ass. Trust me, I  _ know _ how shitty a person can feel. But we both gotta get up and get dressed-- at least most days. And I know you can do it. So get your ass up.” 

 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over so that he didn’t have to look anymore. “I’m sorry that I’m moping so bad when you’re all up and about. Fuck, I don’t even-- you’re right, I should be getting up, you don’t deserve--”

 

Bucky shook his head and rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Well shit, kid, you don’t have to apologize. My fancy new therapist says that we’re all allowed to feel bad, even if someone feels what you think is worse.”

 

“Don't call me kid. I'm taller than you.” 

 

“Yeah, but I'm older, and I can still do  _ this,”  _ Bucky groaned, flopping down to lay behind Steve and put his arm around him. “Have to admit, though, it's definitely harder to spoon now that you're so big and muscle-y.” 

 

Steve smiled just a little bit. “That's gay, Buck.” 

 

“The fuck are you talking about? I'm a straight.” 

 

Steve smiled a little more. “No. You're gay.”

 

“Damn. You got me there.” 

 

Steve could feel Bucky’s breath hot on his neck and he could feel everywhere they were touching with every fiber of his being. He didn't bring up going out again, and neither did Bucky. 

 

They stayed in that night, but only because they both fell asleep in a matter of minutes. 

 

\--

 

The next morning, Steve woke up at quarter to four and went out for a run. He was careful not to jostle Bucky, who still had trouble getting sleep most days, and left a short note.

 

He got back around seven, enjoying the soft burn in his muscles, and headed to the Avengers common floor for breakfast. When the elevator doors slid open and he stepped into the kitchen, all he could do to prepare was suck in a sharp, deep breath--

 

“You’re usually back earlier,” Tony said. Steve swallowed and cracked his neck to the side.

 

“My run lasted longer than usual. You keepin’ tabs?” And where would have once been an accusatory tone was just something tired.

 

“Don’t particularly want to see your face right now,” Tony said lightly. The voice was forced. His eyes were flickering up and down Steve’s sweat-slick form, and he swallowed visibly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. He was thinking about pools and the summer before he’d gone to D.C., and how it’d been better.

 

(Not quite better. Bucky had still been dead.)

 

“Not your fault,” Tony said quietly. He was being nothing like his usual self. Steve hated it.

 

“It is,” Steve muttered. Tony shook his head and took half a step closer. 

 

“Why’d it end, Steve?” he asked. 

 

“I--” Steve coughed. “I don’t know.” He could feel the lie in his bones, could feel the self hatred clawing into his skin. Could feel his own nails trying to follow the hate.

 

“Hey,” Tony said softly, taking another step forward. “Hey, there, no nails.” He gently pried Steve’s hand away from where he was scratching.

 

“Thanks,” Steve said, voice cracking. “You were-- you always--”

 

His words were gone. He didn’t know what to say, let alone how to say it.  _ You were always good at making sure I didn’t hurt myself. You almost always knew when to be soft.  _

 

“It’s okay, Steve,” Tony said, and took another step. They were standing chest to chest, and Tony’s hand was migrating from his arm to cup his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

 

Steve let out a breath. He felt something inside of him shrivel and let go, he felt it stop fighting, and he almost missed it. But not as much as he’d missed Tony.

 

“I missed you,” Steve said. Tony inhaled sharply. 

 

“I missed you, too,” he said.

 

“Why did it have to end?” Steve asked. He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have asked such a dumb question.

 

Tony stepped even closer. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

 

Steve had always been better at long distance.

 

“Can we try again?” Tony asked. Steve couldn’t say a single goddamn thing. He couldn’t say anything then and he couldn’t say anything when Tony’s lips were on his--

 

Steve gasped into the feeling, and  _ fuck _ he’d missed this. He’d missed Tony, but he’d  _ missed _ this. Their mouths slid together and Tony was cupping his face with both hands and Steve held him around his waist.

 

He’d always loved putting his hands around Tony’s waist. He squeezed, and Tony bit his lip, and he near goddamn whined. The light was still dark outside, and they were standing there, in the kitchen, and Steve was thinking about the pools last summer.

 

“Steve,” Tony whispered, pulling away only to mouth down Steve’s jaw and to his neck, sucking and biting and remembering  _ everything _ that made Steve gasp.

 

“Fuck, Tony--”

 

And then there was a leg between his. And he could feel himself getting hard. And he--

 

He was thinking about pools last summer and how sometimes he really did feel like he was drowning again. And there, with Tony’s leg between his own, he could feel the fucking pit in his stomach. It was the color of the ocean during a thunderstorm. He couldn’t outrun it. He couldn’t outlast it. He’d fucking  _ tried _ . 

 

“Tony, wait,” he said, and Tony stilled, but the pit in his stomach was still there. “I can’t-- fuck, I can’t, I’m sorry--”

 

He stumbled away, and Tony didn’t try to hold him back. “Steve, wait--”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t,” Steve choked, and couldn’t move as fast as he wanted. 

 

“Steve, wait, I’m sorry--”

 

But Steve was gone, out of the room, and he was holding his breath. He was holding his breath as he stumbled, away, and he could hear the impact of Tony’s fist against the wall.

 

\--

 

See, the thing was, was that it wasn’t the only reason. Steve knew that. Logically, he knew that there would still have been problems even if he could have gotten rid of that pit in his stomach. He still would have been struggling, Tony still wouldn’t have been able to show that he cared, and Steve still would’ve matched him angry word for angry word.

 

They couldn’t work. Steve needed more than Tony, or anybody, could give, and he and Tony got on like a match on fire. They were always too eager to one-up each other, and always too willing to prove their own point. 

 

But even still, that didn’t stop Steve’s brain from telling him that if only he could’ve  _ enjoyed _ the black pit in his stomach--

 

And then the metaphor got away from him.

 

\--

 

Steve stayed in bed the rest of that day, and Bucky paced outside but didn’t break the door down. It was something like progress.

 

\--

 

The day after that, the Avengers were called away for a mission. 

 

Steve got up and got showered and got dressed and when he stepped out of his room he almost tripped over Bucky, sleeping in the corridor. 

 

He leaned down and shook Bucky awake. “Hey, pal, time to get up,” he said quietly. Bucky stirred gently but showed no further sign of waking. 

 

Sighing, Steve just squeezed his shoulder and gently kissed the top of his head. Bucky could stay asleep. He’d worry less that way anyway. 

 

Steve braced himself before exiting the elevator into the common area. He could still remember yesterday morning, hadn’t stopped thinking about it for twenty-four hours now. But when he got out, only Natasha was around.

 

“Where are the rest of them?” he asked.

 

Natasha shook her head. “Just you and me.”

 

“I thought it was an Avengers call?”

 

“Nope,” Nat said, snapping her gum. “Why, you don’t miss the good ol’ days?” Steve smiled slightly. 

 

“I miss you,” he said. “Not much else.”

 

“Flirting with Sam?”

 

Steve puffed out a laugh through his nose. “Yeah, I miss that, too.”

 

Natasha smiled at him. “It’s gonna turn out okay. You’ve got your Bucky back.”

 

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Did you talk to Tony yesterday?”

 

“Yes,” she said, and started to methodically clean one of her many guns.

 

“Are you mad at me?”

 

Natasha stopped and looked at him directly. “Steve,” she said, and he looked at her too. “I can assure you that I am not mad at you.”

 

“You were his friend first,” Steve said, and Natasha’s eyes narrowed minutely.

 

“And I care about him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, too,” Natasha said. It was possibly the most forthcoming he’d ever heard her about feelings. Of course, he’d always known she wasn’t stone, but he liked hearing it.

 

“Love you, Nat. Do you have the briefing?” 

 

Because he knew not to leave something like that open-ended for her.

 

\--

 

He got back tired. The mission had been successful, but not quite smooth. He and Nat had taken down the fugitives with very little help, the briefing holding limited amount of information. Nobody’s fault, because Fury was technically dead and didn’t quite have total access anymore, but he had needed the job done.

 

Steve was bruised and scraped and bloody and Natasha was giving him the (fake) cold shoulder for taking a bullet that would have gone into her shoulder. In reality though she was leading him to the couch in the common area and applying pressure to the wound and telling JARVIS to get Bruce.

 

“Fuck, Nat-- that hurts --he’s not that kind of doctor,” Steve hissed. The hole in his side was honestly not that bad, the bullet had gone straight through.

 

“Why do you always do this, Steve? I don’t need saving.” Natasha sounded as close to desperate as she’d ever get.

 

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he said. “I know you’d get through it, I just don’t like it.”

 

Natasha sighed. “You’re lucky you heal fast. Soon as you’re done, I’m punching you.”

 

Steve smiled, and panted through the pain. “Yeah, you will.”

 

\--

 

“You’ll be fine, with the serum all you need is bedrest,” Bruce said after doing some perfunctory checks. He really wasn’t that kind of doctor, but it made the rest of them feel better.

 

“Figured as much,” Steve said. Natasha punched him on the arm. Steve pouted.

 

“I’m gonna dress the wound, but here. Take these,” Bruce said, handing over a couple of blue pills from his pocket.

 

“What are they?” Steve asked.

 

“Painkillers. I think they should work on you, I’ve been testing them for a while.”

 

“Huh. Nice, thanks,” Steve said, popping them into his mouth and swallowing them dry. Natasha tutted at him and punched him on the arm.

 

The elevator doors opened and Bucky stumbled out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Steve checked the clock on the wall and it was only 9:30-- he and Nat had only been out for four hours. 

 

Bucky stopped moving and his eyes focused in on where Bruce was wrapping Steve in bandages. “Stevie, what the fuck.”

 

“Mission,” Steve said, waving off Bucky’s worried hands from his wound site, grabbing one instead. “Successful one, too.”

 

“This doesn’t look fuckin’ successful to me,” Bucky said, punching Steve on the arm. Sometimes, Steve thought with a grimace, he and Nat were too similar.

 

“I’m fine,” he said.

 

“Won’t be when I’m done with you,” Bucky muttered. “Wake me up next time, will ya?”

 

“I tried, you didn’t wake up.”

 

“Hm. Try harder next time.”

 

Steve smiled and squeezed Bucky’s hand. Bucky didn’t look away from Bruce’s work, but he squeezed back.

 

\--

 

“Fuck, that stings,” Steve said. Bucky was settling him into his bed, arm braced around his shoulder for support. 

 

“Well maybe if your dumb ass hadn’t gotten  _ shot _ \--”

 

“It was gonna hit Natasha,” Steve mumbled.

 

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky sighed, finally getting him onto the bed and sitting next to him. “Natasha can handle herself.”

 

“I  _ know _ she can, I just didn’t want her to get hurt, and I can heal so much faster, I can take it. She’s human, and I-- I just love her a lot--” Steve broke off and gasped, pressing a hand to the bullet wound.

 

“Jesus, Stevie. I know you do. She knows too.” Bucky sighed and ran his hand through Steve’s hair. “You gotta stop making the sacrifice play. ‘S not good for ya.”

 

Steve shut his eyes tight. He could actually feel the meds starting to kick in. “But it makes other people happy.”

 

Bucky paused his hand on the back of Steve’s neck. “Buddy, nobody’s happy when you’re hurt.”

 

Steve shook his head, and Bucky watched as one of his hands went up and swiped at his eyes. 

 

“Steve, pal, what’s wrong?” Bucky gently rested his metal hand on the side of Steve’s face that wasn’t already being held.

 

The captain still wouldn’t open his eyes. 

 

“Steve?”

 

“I just don’t... if it makes other people happy, then I should just do it, right?”

 

Bucky, increasingly worried, creased his eyebrows. “Not necessarily. What are you talking about?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t-- I’m sorry, I’m just loopy from the meds I think,” Steve said, trying to twist away.

 

Bucky wasn’t having it. “Stevie, pal, please tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“I shouldn’t have broken up with Tony, I should’ve just stayed, he would have been happier and Natasha wouldn’t be sad about it and I--”

 

“Woah, woah, slow down there,” Bucky said, running his hand once again through Steve’s hair. “Where’s this coming from? You weren’t happy with him.”

 

“Yeah, but I could have  _ pretended _ , I could’ve just,” Steve broke off. “I should’ve just dealt with it.”

 

Bucky shook his head frantically. “Dealt with what? Steve, you can’t just pretend to love somebody.”

 

“Yes! I could have! I could’ve just... just...” his breath hitched, and he could feel tears building in his throat. “Fuck, sorry, whatever Bruce gave me was stronger than I e’spected.” His words were starting to slur a little.

 

“Steve, what’s really wrong? You’re not telling me something.” Bucky wiped under Steve’s eyes.

 

“I didn’t like the sex,” Steve said-- blurted, really. Bucky knew, god he knew, that Steve wouldn’t have said this without the medication. “I don’t... I don’t like sex.”

 

Bucky shut his eyes. “Oh, Steve. You don’t have to like sex.”

 

“But it would’ve made him happy, and I should’ve just kept--” Steve was crying now.

 

“Jesus, Stevie-- did you have sex when you didn’t want to?”

 

“He didn’t know, I didn’t tell him anything was wrong, I wanted--” Steve sobbed, once. “I wanted to do it, I just didn’t like it.”

 

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky said, feeling pressure in the back of his throat. He couldn’t cry now, though, or Steve would think Bucky was disappointed in him or some shit. That martyr shit was just like him.

 

“Listen to me,” Bucky said firmly. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, okay? And you never have to do anything you don’t like. Is that clear?”

 

Steve nodded blearily, but Bucky could tell he wasn’t listening. 

 

“Steve, please-- for Christ’s sake, please, please. You don’t have to do anything you don’t like, and there is nothing--  _ nothing _ \--wrong with you.” Bucky was pleading, desperate. He could tell, though, by the way Steve turned on his side and shut his eyes, that it would have to wait.

 

Bucky didn’t know how the hell to convince him, but for everything he was worth, he’d try.

 

\--

 

Steve woke up with the slightest ache in his side, telling him he was mostly healed. That meant it was at least a couple hours after he’d gotten back from the mission and gone to bed--

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

He looked around frantically but Bucky was nowhere in sight. He was alone.

 

\--

 

There are so many things that can go wrong in a relationship. Timing, compatibility, attraction.

 

_ (Attraction.) _

 

But even more than that, there are so many things-- so  _ many _ \--that have to go right. There could be one second’s difference between two people working for each other. The second between catching a bus or waiting for the next, the second it takes to decide whether to kiss somebody or not, the second that one person decides that it’s too much, and the second that it takes for somebody to decide it’s not enough. 

 

With so many variables, Steve wondered whether or not it was even worth trying.

 

\--

 

Bucky got home that night later than he’d wanted. 

 

He found Steve in the kitchen, all of the lights turned off and the fridge open. Steve was staring at the contents, eyes red and mouth open slightly. He looked like shit, and Bucky winced.

 

“Hey, pal,” Bucky said, quiet as he could.

 

Steve still jumped a little. “Hey.”

 

“Need somethin’ to eat?” Bucky asked, moving to take over with the whole staring into the fridge deal.

 

“Don’t need you to feed me. ’M not ten anymore.”

 

Bucky looked over at the blank tone, and caught Steve pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, like he was holding in sick. As soon as he caught Bucky’s eye though, he dropped his hand, straightening his posture, seemingly bracing himself.

 

“Listen, Buck--” and Bucky wondered when they’d both stop  _ saying  _ that and actually  _ listen _ “--I wanna talk for a second.”

 

Bucky nodded, prompting Steve to go on.

 

“We can just... ignore what I said earlier. I didn’t mean any of it, was loopy from the meds, and I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I never want to make you uncomfortable--”

 

“Wait,  _ what? _ ” Bucky asked, finally regaining use of his vocal chords. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, and what do you mean just  _ ignore _ it?” 

 

Steve faltered for a second. “I just-- you left, and I know you leave when you’re uncomfortable with a topic, and it’s really no big deal. I won’t talk about it anymore. I just wanted to say sorry.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes and cursed himself. “Stevie, no. I wasn’t uncomfortable with the topic. I was just...” Bucky trailed off. He didn’t know how to say this. Not without making Steve think he’d been proven right.

 

“Bucky, it’s okay,” Steve said tiredly. 

 

“I was upset by the idea that you’d experienced sexual situations that were uncomfortable for you. It made me feel sad and like I should’ve protected you, but I know I couldn’t have protected you from that and that made me frustrated and upset,” Bucky said. His words were slow, practiced.

 

“That sounds like Dr. Griffin to me,” Steve said. 

 

“Well, that’s where I was,” Bucky said, smiling softly, keeping his tone light.

 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. “Jesus, Buck, I pushed you into an extra therapy session with all my bullshit, I shoulda just kept quiet, you don’t need--”

 

“Steve,  _ no _ . I needed to process what you told me because you went through something horrible and I care about you, and I want to be able to  _ help _ you with it,” Bucky said desperately. “Please, Steve, I want you to be able to tell me this stuff.”

 

Steve took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyes still squeezed shut. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said, and his voice cracked.

 

“Can I come give you a hug?” Bucky asked. Steve shrugged, and Bucky took that as a yes.

 

As soon as there were arms around him, something inside Steve seemed to crumble. Maybe it was his resolve. Bucky could feel Steve press his face into the joint where metal met flesh, on Bucky’s left shoulder. Steve always seemed to gravitate there whenever hugs were involved.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said quietly. Steve shook his head  _ no _ , but Bucky didn’t know what for. “Steve, there’s nothing wrong with you, okay?”

 

“Fuck, Bucky, but obviously there  _ is _ , or else I would  _ like  _ it--”

 

“It’s called asexuality,” Bucky said, barely even stumbling over the word.

 

“What?” Steve asked, startled.

 

“People who don’t like sex. It’s being asexual. Kinda like being gay, except you can be gay but be asexual, it’s just like--” Bucky was struggling, having only learned this an hour ago. “It’s like, if gay and straight is who you can fall in love with, then homosexual or heterosexual is who you want to have sex with. Kinda. And in some cases, if you don’t wanna have sex with anybody, you could be asexual.”

 

“You’re being for real?”

 

“Yeah. Well, it’s kind of really complicated, it’s a whole spectrum, but. Yeah.”

 

Steve pulled back and looked Bucky in the eye, and when he saw the calm way Bucky was looking at him, he started crying.

 

“I didn’t mean to-- to get like this, I’m sorry,” Steve said, but Bucky just pulled him back against his shoulder.

 

“It’s alright, Steve. It’s alright,” Bucky hushed. He ran a hand through Steve’s hair, over and over.

 

“I thought it was only me,” Steve said. “But it’s not?”

 

“It’s not, Steve. You’re not alone.”

 

\--

 

They went to bed, each to their own rooms. Bucky had offered to stay with Steve again, but Steve declined. He needed to be alone.

 

The next morning, Steve got up at quarter to four and went on his run. He was careful to make it back by his usual six am, but when he got into the kitchen somebody was waiting for him.

 

“Steve, what part of  _ bedrest _ don’t you understand?” Natasha asked sternly. Steve smiled tiredly at her.

 

“It’s all healed up already,” he said. He’d ruffle her hair, but he didn’t have a death wish. Not at that very moment, at least.

 

“Hm.”

 

“I promise, Nat,” he said. “Now quit gettin’ JARVIS to check up on me and go back to bed.” He smiled again at her, bigger and brighter.

 

“Hm.”

 

\--

 

Back in his room, he powered up the laptop that usually sat collecting dust on his desk. In the search bar, he typed  _ asexuality _ .

 

A few hours of googling later, he was still pretty confused but definitely less uncertain of himself. He sat back from the desk and popped his neck. Thought about whether or not it was something he should tell Tony.

 

He thought for a long time about whether or not to tell Tony.

 

\--

 

Except, the thing was:

 

It was that this...  _ thing _ , the sex, or lack thereof, hadn’t been the only issue. And Steve knew that Tony would take Steve back in a heartbeat and happily agree to no sex ever again and that he would  _ mean _ it, with a hundred percent sincerity. At least, Steve was pretty sure about that.

 

The thing was, though, was that sex wasn’t the only issue. Because Tony, even though he tried, Steve needed more than Tony could give. He needed to not be at each other’s throats and he needed to not need to prove himself every second he was with him and he needed to-- 

 

He just needed something else.

 

He couldn’t tell Tony.

 

\--

 

He could just  _ picture _ the look on Tony’s face if he realized he’d done something,  _ anything _ , to Steve that Steve didn’t want. Even if Steve didn’t know he didn’t want--

 

The metaphor got away from him again. 

 

He couldn’t tell Tony. Tony would fucking  _ hate _ himself. More than he already did. And Steve couldn’t do that to him. 

 

\--

 

_ Dear Tony, _

 

_ I want to preface this by saying that none of this is your fault. There isn’t an easy way to say this, but I thought that you should know. It isn’t wholly the reason for anything, and it’s nothing to blame yourself for, but something I’ve recently learned about myself is that I  _

 

\--

 

_ Dear Tony,  _

 

_ I’ve been thinking about last summer, about the pools, and about how much fun we had in the water. I hadn’t thought I could have fun in water anymore, for obvious reasons. But with you I  _

 

\--

 

_ Dear Tony, _

 

\--

 

“Hey, pal, you alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah, Buck, I’m fine.” He shot a smile towards his best friend.

 

“You’re allowed to not be,” Bucky said.

 

“I know,” Steve said, smiling again.

 

\--

 

That night, Steve could hear the familiar sounds of one of Bucky’s nightmares from the bedroom across the hall. Steve hadn’t even been sleeping yet, so he quickly jumped out of bed and made his way over to Bucky’s door. 

 

He knocked once. “Bucky?” When there was no reply except for ragged shouts, Steve opened the door. 

 

“Bucky?” he asked again. He could see the trembling form beneath the blankets, could hear the hitched breaths. Steve knew not to touch, to just call for him quietly until he responded. “Bucky.”

 

And that was the lucky ticket. Bucky sat up, his hands gripping the sheets, obvious even in the dark. “Steve?”

 

“Yeah, bud, it’s me,” Steve said quietly. “Can I come sit with you?”

 

“Hang on.”

 

Steve watched as Bucky tapped his fingers against the bed, ten times, counting.

 

“Okay,” he said after the tenth. At the word, Steve gratefully stepped closer and sat next to Bucky on the bed. 

 

“I could use a hug,” Bucky said. Steve complied immediately. They sat there for a bit, just holding each other. 

 

“I can stay with you tonight, if you want?” Steve asked, keeping his voice down.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind?” Bucky asked. His words came out muffled from where his face was buried in Steve’s shirt. 

 

“Of course not, Buck. Of course not.”

 

\--

 

The next morning, Steve decided not to go out on a run. He stayed in Bucky’s bed, holding the other man as he slept. It was hours before Bucky woke, but Steve didn’t mind. Steve knew, without even having to think about it, that it was worth it.

 

\--

 

_ Dear Tony,  _

 

_ It would just be cruel to tell you now. Wouldn’t it? If what’s happening with Bucky is happening, if it isn’t just another false hope like the so many other times, then it would just be cruel to tell you. It’s cruel in any case, at this point, but to tell you would be to imply that I think he’s better equipped to handle my newfound sexuality (or lack thereof) than you are. That isn’t true, though, I never once thought for a moment that you’d knowingly do something I didn’t want. Nothing is happening, probably, anyway. With Bucky. We’ve always been like this, we’ve always _

 

Steve crumpled that one into a tighter mess than the others. 

 

\--

 

Steve went on a four hour run the next day. He didn’t run into anybody in the kitchen. He’d almost wished he had.

 

\--

 

The day after that, Steve stayed in bed for the morning. His own bed, without a Bucky and without a run and without Natasha telling him to lay off on the exercise. 

 

That stillness only lasted about half an hour before there was a knock on his door. 

 

“Stevie?” Bucky asked. 

 

“You can come in,” Steve called, sitting up on his bed and dragging a hand down his face.

 

The door swung open and Bucky was there, a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” he whispered.

 

“What’s up, Bucky?”

 

“Wanted to talk to you about something, it’s kinda important but it’s nothing bad,” Bucky said. He moved into the room and swung the desk chair closer to the bed, sitting there.

 

Steve felt his heart pound. “Sure, what’s going on?” 

 

Bucky paused for a long time, but looked Steve in the eye.

 

“I think I’m in love with you, Steve.”

 

Steve could feel himself start shaking, could feel his teeth chatter and his bones quake, and it was visible, fuck, it was visible.

 

“I know it’s not the best time, but I just. Wanted to tell you,” Bucky croaked, leaning back, looking like he was going to  _ leave. _

 

“Bucky, I--”  _ I love you, too. _ “You know I can’t-- that I don’t like...”

 

“I know,” Bucky nodded, frantic. “Steve, I know, and I don’t expect you to change anything about that. In fact, you don’t even have to respond to this if you don’t want. I just needed to tell you.”

 

“Bucky, wait--” and one deep breath later-- “I love you, too. So much.”

 

Bucky seemed to settle. Smiled. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. Really.” Steve tried to smile back, and he mostly managed it, but for where his teeth were chattering.

 

“Are you okay? Do you need me to leave?” Bucky asked, worry seeping through his words.

 

“No, no, please stay. Just.” Steve stopped. Took another breath. “You’d even want a relationship? Without the sex?”

 

Bucky crumpled his eyebrows. “Well, yeah. I love you. Not sex.”

 

Something inside Steve released. He felt like he could breathe. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, still looking unsure. “Do you like kissing?”

 

Steve nodded, still kind of flabbergasted. “Yes. I love kissing. I just don’t like much else.”

 

Bucky smirked. “Then come kiss me, punk.”

 

Steve smiled back and leaned in and their mouths slid together and Steve stopped shaking.

 

\--

 

A week later, Steve and Bucky got back from their run, which Bucky had adamantly cut back to a reasonable one hour. Steve figured he could make up the extra time in the gym and they headed to the kitchen. 

 

They exited the elevator giggling and Bucky pecked Steve on the lips, super quick. Except that half the goddamn team was watching them, and Steve froze.

 

Of course, Tony was the first to speak. 

 

“Well, RoboCop, at least I don’t have to tell you to take care of him,” he said, too loud. But then, seeing Steve and all the fear and guilt, he said, softer, “It’s okay, Steve. Stop looking like someone just caught your hand in the cookie jar.” And it wasn’t his best, but it was sincere.

 

“Hm,” Natasha said. Later, she told them both she was happy that they’d gotten their heads out of their asses.

 

“I’m gonna need another coffee,” Bruce said.

 

Steve let out a breath, and he could feel Bucky next to him do the same.

 

\--

 

That night, as they brushed their teeth side by side, Bucky nudged Steve with his shoulder. 

 

“I have two things I want to say,” Bucky said. Steve looked at him with an eyebrow raised, still scrubbing toothpaste around.

 

“One, I want to thank you for being here for me through, y’know, all of everything,” Bucky said, and Steve thought of sleepless nights and pre-and-post-therapy de-stress sessions and midnight baking and long, long days where he couldn’t offer anything but his presence.

 

“Ditto,” Steve said through a mouth full of foam, thinking of everything else.

 

“And two, I think Tony took it fairly well, don’t you?”

 

Steve spit in the sink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. To be honest, I think it took me longer to get over everything than it took him.”

 

“I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?” Bucky joked. He knew he didn’t.

 

“You know you don’t. I’ve loved you for years. Decades, even,” Steve said.

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, this is a very self-indulgent and somewhat personal story for me. Because of this, it is not at all an overarching representation of asexuality, nor should it be regarded as one. Asexuality is a word that encompasses a multitude of various identites and experiences, and no one account can describe them all as thoroughly and accurately as they deserve. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought about this story in the comments. :)


End file.
